My lovely readers,
Again - I cannot apologize enough for my horrible habits in updating. But exams are finished, and I have a spot in university! So I have more time now, for a little while.I hope...Anways, chapter three - we left pouvre Isabella publicly shamed before her father-in-law and his court at the joust. Do read on.
"The King looked furious." Nicolette and Isabella sat quietly in the corner of the King's council room, holding their embroidery and occasionally glancing up to watch the prince and his companions engage in mock sword fights.
"Furious because I left?" Isabella inquired of her maid. "Or because of Edward?"
"Because of your husband, I am sure. How dared the prince of England publicly humiliate his own wife!" The princess was comforted by Nicolette's indignation on her behalf. That morning's tournament and its events would not escape the gossip of the court. She looked up to see Edward duck the wooden sword of Piers de Gaveston, and watched the two embrace easily, laughing no doubt at the prince's apparent prowess. Isabella's eyes flickered to a movement in the doorway and saw the King standing askance, surveying the room.
"You did not come to see me after the tournament." He glared at the prince, whose practice sword hung limply from his hand. Glancing at the handful of soldiers and a few of the prince's comrades on one side of the room, he ordered them out. The princess and Nicolette remained inconspicuously in the corner, half concealed by shadow. The King advanced on his son.
"When I issue a command, I expect it to be followed." He kicked the wooden sword out of Edward's hand and gripped the prince's shoulder.
"I was meaning to - I was about to -" stammered the prince, flinching from his father's iron hold.
"Immediately. You would be flayed in the courtyard if you were a soldier. Consider yourself warned." The King loosened his grip and made to turn away, before suddenly swinging his gauntlet-clad arm at Edward's head. The prince crumpled, whimpering from the blow. A ring fell from a small pouch at his waist and clattered onto the stone floor. Apparently unaware of his son's sniveling, the King bent to pick it up. He examined it and then flung the ring away as though it were a hot coal. "Fool!" he raged at his son. "You would not accept a handkerchief from your wife, and yet you carry the token of that filth, that bloody de Gaveston, on your person!"
The King stared down authoritatively, inwardly ashamed, as he had always been, that this quivering child was his son.
"You are the next King of England, boy. It's time you were tested." He strode slowly away, but Edward did not stand. "I leave next week to, ah - negotiate - with Philip in France." The King inclined his head briefly in Isabella's direction. The princess jumped, startled by his acknowledgment in this awkward situation. Oblivious, the King continued.
"You must remain here and deal with the Scottish rebellion that his arisen." He turned back to his son. "Get up, boy!" he barked, furiously approaching the prince. Dragging Edward to his feet, he spoke through clenched teeth. "You will quell this disturbance and keep northern England fortified. Do you understand? And make sure that Wallace is killed." Turning to leave, the King was stopped by his son's stammer.
"Wa-Wallace?"
Edward I turned, his face twisted in a disdainful sneer. "Ah, of course...you were not present at our last military counsel. Or the one before that." The King laughed mockingly. "Your wife knows more about the affairs of this country then you do, my son. A woman!" He threw his head back, but his laugh of derision became a chocking cough.
"Sir?" Edward moved forward uncertainly, touching his father's arm.
"Get off!" Shoving his son roughly away, the King continued, his breathing laboured. "Wallace leads the Scots, sacking towns and villages and killing the English garrisons. His tactics are erratic, no discipline. Have him killed. He is a commoner - even you should not have that much difficulty killing a peasant."
The King's absence from England did not encourage his son to take on the role of a leader. It merely gave Edward more freedom to indulge in parties, luxurious clothes, and extravagant entertainment. Arymer de Valance, the leader of England's army, attempted to engage my husband in plans for attack and quelling the rebellion. He was met with disdain however, as Edward chose hunting or archery practice over fulfilling the order his father had given to him. I attended even more meetings and discussions in my husband's stead then usual, and therefore learned of all that Wallace did. What had started with the defeat of one garrison multiplied into the sacking of major English holdings in southern Scotland. Hamilton finally sent an army north, documented with a hurried signature from my husband. Of course, my information did not come exclusively from the war councils. Nicolette always had gossip to share, and sometimes even a few genuine slivers of information.
Edward and Piers walked ahead of the princess and her maid, admiring each other in yet another set of expensive clothing that Edward had had tailored for them. They nattered like two old women, about topics which were most unbefitting for a prince of England. Lagging behind, Isabella told her maid of yet another council she had come from, and during which de Valence had decided to station the army in York, on the tip of the English-Scottish border. Nicolette surprised the princess by nodding her head and elaborating on this information.
"But how do you know? You were not at the council!"
Nicolette giggled in delight, savouring the surprise on Isabella's face. "No," she agreed. "But last night, I snuck away with Roger Whitmore, one of de Valence's lieutenants. I was quite aggravated, listening to all his war-talk and pretending to be interested...but in the end, I suppose it was worth it."
Isabella regarded her maid and best friend in astonishment. "Worth it? Perhaps I should not ask!"
Nicolette looked side-long at the princess. "Perhaps not," she said mischievously, "but I can assure you, he kisses almost as well as a Frenchman!"
Isabella perched on a stone bench in a corner of the courtyard and smiled nostalgically. "You will not find the romance of France in this country, Nicolette, regardless of how hard you look." She glanced at her friend, and in a would-be stern voice admonished, "And you certainly will not find it among the King's soldiers, you silly girl!"
Unfazed, Nicolette sat beside the princess. "Perhaps not, but passion is not restricted only to France." In answer to her mistress' questioning look, Nicolette elaborated. "The man who leads the Scottish has more passion for his cause then any I have ever heard of." The princess sighed.
"I have heard nothing of passion. He is merely a barbarian, sacking towns and murdering men. What passion is there in that?"
"Well, I met one of the scullery maids, Nessa, after I had parted with Roger. She let me in through the servant's quarters, and told me of what she had heard of Wallace. She's Scottish herself."
Isabella seemed unconvinced. "And so?"
"Well," Nicolette continued, taking the princess' hands in her own, "Wallace does not fight for just freedom. He is avenging a lover!" At Isabella's surprised gasp, Nicolette continued in excitement.
"He was involved in a disturbance of some sort, Nessa did not know what it was. So, the English sheriff of his village, Lanark, took Wallace's woman and killed her to lure Wallace to fight. But when he did, half the town stood behind him, and they overpowered the English guard! Nessa said that one or two of the men escaped, and called for help from a nearby garrison. They attacked Wallace at the burial of his lover, and again he fought and defeated them!" Nicolette's eyes were bright with the thrill of her story, and she finished in an animated voice. "He finally carried her body to a secret resting place, and has been routing English soldiers ever since! Now how can you say that this man has no passion? I suppose he has so many followers because they believe that he fights merely for his freedom and their own from the English King. But I believe that he is driven by his love for the woman they killed!"
Isabella smiled at her friend's story, and sighed wistfully. "I was wrong, then. I cannot think of a better reason for a man to fight."
"For freedom or love?" Nicolette asked curiously.
"Both, I suppose...but for love mostly. What I would not give..." The princess sighed again, thinking of her longing to be loved - truly loved - by a man with passion like that of William Wallace.
A little longer, yes? I hope to follow this with a scene starring our favourite Scottish rebel, so I shall sit and muse for a short while. Please reveiw, comments from readers can be such good inspiration! Thank you m'dears.